‘If that is what you want, Lyall, then I should go.’
His body pressed against hers, his palm on her cheek, forehead to hers. That sensuous mouth of his was but an inch away. ‘I would never do all those things to you if you did not want me to. Do you want to go?’ he said, breathing heavily.
This was her choice, here, now. Lyall would not force her to stay, but if she did, this man meant to do things to her, rough things, shameful things, things she yearned for and did not yet understand.
‘I say again, do you want to go? Speak, Giselle.’
‘No,’ she gasped. She’d scarce said the word before his mouth took hers and he pressed her up against the door. The wood was hard at her back, Lyall’s stubble rough against her face, lips warm and forceful. Desire flooded Giselle’s loins, her face burned, and restraint slipped away from her as his tongue pushed into her mouth.
‘I want you, Giselle,’ he moaned between kisses. ‘You bring such a passion on me as no man could fight. It’s like a raging hunger that I cannot control.’
How delicious it was to be desired. Giselle clutched at his chest and, as his kiss deepened, she snaked her arms around his neck and held him tight.
His mouth went to the sweet spot at the base of her neck. ‘This dress pleases me, but I cannot see you,’ he murmured, as he tore it down off her shoulders. His hands cupped her breasts, making her catch her breath.
‘Your hands are cold,’ she breathed.
‘Aye, I know, I was trying to find somewhere to warm them.’ Lyall laughed against her mouth, breaking the tension. He rubbed his hands together and breathed on them.
When they found her breasts again, warmer now, she almost melted with desire. Lyall stroked and squeezed her eager flesh, brushing the pad of his thumb over her nipple, shooting desire down to her loins.
‘No, you should not,’ she gasped, shaking her head.
‘Because you don’t like it, or because you do,’ he murmured, kissing her neck harder.
‘It’s wrong, it’s sinful.’
‘Aye, that’s why it feels so good. Tell me you don’t like it.’
Giselle could not say a word. In the darkness, Lyall seemed like a beast, harder and more commanding somehow. She wanted to deny him and tell him to get off of her, but the way he was making her feel was just too thrilling.
Lyall took hold of her hair, his lips took her mouth prisoner, and Giselle was all sensation and no common sense, as he lifted her skirt and explored her thigh with his hand. A warm palm slid upwards and over her bottom, and it seemed to excite him, for his kiss deepened. Lyall’s hand moved over her hip bone, so gently, and then down, until Giselle was almost screaming for him to touch her there, between her legs, where a deep ache of desire pulsed. She pictured his fingers, cool and long, as he began to slide them against her in the most intimate way.
This was too much. She had let him go too far, but how could she stop him when little shoots of pleasure were taking away her free will? As he slid along the length of her with his hand, Giselle almost stopped breathing. How could someone who was all muscle and fury be so gentle?
‘Lyall, I…oh, don’t stop,’ she breathed.
‘I can’t stop,’ he murmured, burying his face in her hair. ‘I should, but I can’t. Damn you excite me so Giselle, you bring a fearful lust on me. I won’t hurt you. I promise you can trust me.’
Trust him, with what he was doing to her? She had no reason to. But she was melting against his hand and pressing herself to it, as a feeling built up and up inside. Lyall was her master and how glorious it felt to be his slave. She would do anything to catch the feeling that was just out of reach. Her loins were hot, as though they were melting.
Emboldened, Giselle rubbed her hands along his chest, feeling the swell of his muscle through the rough fabric of his tunic. Lyall was so hard and broad, the smell of soap still clinging to his skin when he bent to kiss her neck. She tasted the ale on his tongue and revelled in his manly scent, all sin and strength. He groaned into her mouth as his other hand grasped hers, and moved it downwards, over the clenched muscles of his stomach.
‘I love the way you get so wet for me,’ he breathed, as his fingers continued to slide over her most intimate place. ‘I never saw anything as lovely as you in all my life. Tonight you took my breath away and now to be touching you like this…’
He moved her hand lower still, until her fingers found his hard length, straining against his braies.
Lyall groaned and roughly tore them open. There was an urgency about him, and a rising passion, as he coiled her fingers around his manhood.
‘Oh God,’ she gasped, in awe.
‘That’s just what a man wants to hear, lass,’ he breathed into her hair. She could almost feel him smiling in the darkness, as he began to move her wrist slowly up and down.
Giselle was too carried away by his hand, still moving tenderly on her body, to protest. His manhood was not at all what she had expected. It was full and solid, yet smooth, like a rod of iron inside a velvet glove, gliding in her palm, becoming slippery with his need. It was a magnificent and daunting thing.
It was so exciting to have a man like this, to hold him in the palm of her hand. Giselle smiled in the half-light as her whole world became Lyall’s fingers, and his mouth, and his deep, dark voice urging her to hold him tighter.
She gave herself up to some wild, wanton part of her and gasped and whimpered her passion out into the night, else she would have died from the intensity of it.